I Don't Want To Love Somebody Else
by KirklandHummelBonnefoyAnderson
Summary: Arthur knows that Francis has crossed the line, that he should leave him while he still can. But he can't. He doesn't want to love somebody else. He can't love somebody else. And Francis feels the same. FrUK. Angsty. Better Story(?).


Francis could only watch as Arthur angrily paced their bedroom, his hands gripping his slightly shaggy, light blonde locks as his eyes shone with unshed tears. He felt guilt tear apart his heart as he watched him, knowing that he was the one who'd caused him to act this way.

"Arthur, I-"

"Shut up," Arthur replied, almost snapping, his voice cracking as he turned away. Francis looked at the dark gray carpeting of the floor, his fingers fumbling with the loose strings at the hem of his sweater. "Francis... what've we turned into?"

Francis bit his bottom lip, the ring on his finger suddenly heavier than usual. He'd promised. Oh God, he'd _promised_. What could have ever compelled him to break that promise..?

"I don't know, Arthur," he murmured in response, tightening his fists around the bases of his sleeves. "I don't know."

Arthur spun around and walked towards him, bringing his palm down onto Francis' cheek and recieving only a small flinch. A tear snuck it's way down his cheek, and he angrily wiped it away.

"Oh God, Frog," he muttered. "What've you done..?"

He knew there was no point in trying to deny it. The prove was all over his body. The bitemarks and scratches along his back, his neck, that had been left there by someone other than Arthur. He could only slump to the floor and burst into tears.

"I'm so sorry," he said shakily, gripping and tugging at his hair. "I'm so, so sorry. I love you. I love you so much."

Arthur just watched him for the longest time, in silence, biting his lip as tears ran down his cheeks. He watched as the love of his life shook with sobs, as the bitemarks on his neck peeked out from behind his collar.

He crouched down in front of Francis, pulling his sleeve over his fingers and reaching out to gently wipe the other's eyes. The Frenchman looked up at him, sniffling, and Arthur sighed.

"I know it's time to tell you it's over, but..." His voice cracked, and he paused, drawing in a shaky breath before whispering. "I don't want to love somebody else."

Francis stared at him, entwining his fingers in the carpeting. "I'm sorry..." he whispered, his voice shaky and cracking as he wrapped his arms around his knees and pulled them to his chest. "I know that I shouldn't go on hoping that we can start over. That you'll change your mind. That you'll ever be able to be with me and..."

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his palms against the sides of his head. "I love you, you idiot," he muttered, peeking out at him from behind his eyelids. No, this wasn't Francis. Not the Francis he'd fallen in love with, had married and moved in with. This was a broken, watered down version of the love of his life. "I love you, with every bit of my being. But..." His voice cracked. "But you obviously don't feel the same way."

Francis' eyes widened. "No, no. You are my love. I love you more than anyone else," he replied, his voice pleading, his blue eyes begging the Englishman to believe him. "I swear to God, I swear to anything that I love you. I love you..."

Arthur stared at him, his own gaze filled with hurt. He wasn't Arthur anymore, either. His eyes were broken, his heart was numb and scarred. He wanted to start over just as much as Francis did. But he just didn't know if that was possible.

He reached out to the Frenchman, opening his arms to him like a child asking for a hug. Francis slipped into his embrace, letting Arthur bury his face in his shoulder and cry, Arthur letting him rest his head in the curve of his neck.

"I thought we could be the greatest story that I'd tell," Arthur whispered against Francis' sweater, the itchy fabric tickling his nose. "When I was old and a grandfather. An annoying old man who wouldn't shut up about this amazing man he'd met in Paris..."

Francis choked out a sob, holding him closer, his lips brushing against his skin as he breathed along his neck.

"I my entire world is built around you, Francis," Arthur continued, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Every word you said, all the way from 'I love you' to 'I do,' I... I _lived_ in them. I lived in you. And I still do..."

Arthur pulled back a little, tugging at Francis' sweater, carefully pulling it off, biting his lip, the pain in his eyes worsening when he saw the marks along his love's body. He ran his fingers along his chest, lightly, tracing every lovebite left by someone else who had chosen to claim Francis, _his_ Francis, as their own.

"I thought I'd found you, Francis. I thought you'd _changed_. I thought you were _all mine_," he continued, his fingers making their way up to his neck. "I knew you were seeing someone else. By the way you would sneak out in the middle of the night and come back in the morning with these goddamn marks all over your body. But i didn't want to bring it up. I didn't want to hear you admit it. And now it's eating us alive."

The Englishman ran his fingers along Francis' jawline, letting out a long sigh. He lightly touched his husband's slightly bruised lips, biting his own.

"You should move on, then, _mon cher,_" Francis murmured, his breathing shaky. "You deserve someone better than me..."

Arthur slapped him again, hard, tears streaming down his face. "No! I already told you! I don't care if lonliness kills me, Francis! I _can't_!" He sunk back to the floor, gently grabbing Francis' arms and pulling him back up. "I don't want to love somebody else."

Arthur's hands were shaking now, as he ran them through the Frenchman's hair and pulled him closer, sending their lips crashing together in a sloppy, ruthless kiss. There was nothing beautiful, nothing sweet about it. It was desperate. Their way of desperately trying to fix whatever was broken between them.

"I don't want to love somebody else," Arthur whispered, pinning him against the carpet and crawling on top of him, weakly pounding his fists against his chest. "I can't do it. Why? Why do I have to be so in love with you...?"

Francis let him do what he needed, allowed Arthur to inflict whatever pain he needed to. He gave him new bruises in a feeble attempt to cover up the old ones. Pain to hide pain. He knew it wouldn't work, that those bruises were still there, but that was the thing about people. If you cover something up it's easier to believe that it wasn't there.

Francis knew that Arthur blamed him for this, for tearing them apart in exchange for a few short, blissful moments. None of it had been worth it. None of it at all. It was his fault, and despite anything Arthur said he knew that his husband knew it as well. But that was another thing about people. They needed someone, or something, anything to blame. And in this case it was Francis.

Arthur eventually gave up, and they both broke down into sobs, Arthur curling up next to Francis on the old, stained carpet, Francis keeping his arms wrapped around him as they slowly fell asleep together, drowning in their tears. As they both whispered to each other in their sleep.

"I don't want to love somebody else."


End file.
